He's Just Fine
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: Takes place during 3x18- Riddled. After Melissa and Agent McCall find Stiles near the car wreck, they bring him to the hospital. This scene is basically what could have happened between Stiles and his dad in the hospital. Sorry for horrible summary, pretty much a father-son scene that we never got to see.


"He's sleeping now. And he's just fine."

The sheriff said these words out loud to the people in the waiting room, but he knew they weren't true. Stiles wasn't fine. He was so far from fine.

Sheriff Stilinski burst through the hospital doors moments after his son and the McCalls.

"Where's my son?" He asked the receptionist as calmly as he could, though he could hear his own voice shaking. "Where's Stiles, where's my son?"

"Room 318." She replied. "He's with Melissa now."

He nodded once and forced a smile before taking off for the elevator.

The Sheriff met Melissa outside of Stiles' room. She stopped him just before he burst through the door.

"Hey, hey, slow down there speed racer. John, look at me." She said.

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from his son inside the room to meet Melissa's gaze. "Wha—"

"He was hypothermic and is showing signs of a possible concussion. We took his vitals and gave him a small dose of a sedative to prevent another panic attack." She explained, keeping her eyes locked on John's.

"Anoth—"

"Yes, another. We're going to run a few tests, maybe an MRI, but John, he's fine. Medically, Stiles is going to be okay."

"Medically?"  
>"He needs his dad right now." She said calmly, giving him a gentle smile and gesturing for him to go inside.<p>

John slowly opened the door, as to not startle his son. Stiles was sitting on the bed facing the wall opposite the door.

"Stiles." John said softly. Stiles jerked around to see his dad. His face was red and puffy and chapped from crying. His lips were trembling, though John could see how hard his son was trying to keep it together. John crossed the room, but Stiles leapt up and met him halfway, stopping just within arms reach.

It killed John to see his only son standing before him, so broken and hurt. All he wanted to do was shelter him from all the monsters and demons you hear about in fairytales, but a few weeks ago the fairytales became nightmares, and the nightmares became reality and this…this is the life they lived now. They couldn't live in the dark anymore. They had to stand in the sun and do something about it because that's what happens. Once the blissful ignorance fades you're left with knowledge. And with knowledge comes responsibility. It was John's responsibility as a sheriff and as a father to protect the people he surrounded himself with. He had to protect his son.

John stepped forward and closed the space between him and Stiles, pulling his son into his arms. Stiles hesitated for a second before melting into his father's embrace and burying himself further into it.

"Dad I couldn't…I thought I was—"

"I know."

"I was there." He whispered, his voice shaking almost as violently as the rest of his body. "I was so sure. I-I-I told Scott a-and I thought it—"

"I know son. It's okay. You're okay kiddo." John carded his fingers through his son's hair and held him impossibly tighter. Stiles suddenly stumbled backwards, away from his father's embrace. He brought his hands up, bracing himself as if he was waiting for a punch. Tears streaked down his raw cheeks and his lips, dry and cracked and trembling. He took rapid breaths through chattering teeth, his skin growing pale and clammy. Stiles' eyes were wide with fear as he searched the room…what for, John didn't know.

"Stiles, hey," John stepped forward tentatively. Stiles flailed as he tripped over his own feet and fell back against the counter. John rushed to his son, catching his head just before it smacked against the linoleum. "Stiles, look at me. Tell me what's wrong kiddo."

Stiles was nearly hyperventilating now, his breaths were shallow and short and shaky. "W-what if he…oh no, no no no he ca—he can't. I won't let him. I won't let him. I'll be s—I'll be stronger. He can't…" Stiles pressed his hands against the sides of his head, tugging on his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly his eyes shot open and he stared at the sheriff with doe-like innocence. "Please don't let him come back. Don't let him get me, Dad. I don't…" He took another shaky breath. "I don't want him to take me away from you."

The sheriff's heart might've actually burst into a million pieces right then and there if it weren't for the circumstances. But now, all he felt was worry. He didn't know what, or who the hell his son was so afraid of, which meant he couldn't protect him. All he could do was be there when it finally broke Stiles so that he could begin to put the pieces back together.

So John did what he knew. Something he did when Stiles was younger to help him get over the monsters who supposedly lived in his closet. The only difference was that now, the monsters seemed to live inside his head.

John took his badge from his belt and held it in front of his son. "Stiles, look at me."

Slowly, Stiles lifted his eyes and looked from his dad to the badge. "Do you know what this is?"

Stiles cocked his head in suspicion.

"Do you know," John repeated, "what this is?"

"Your badge."

"And do you know why I have this badge?"

"B—because you're the sheriff."

"Because I am the damn sheriff of this damn town." John said, earning a small smile from his son. "Do you know what that means, son?"

"Dad—"

"It means that it is my godforsaken job to protect you from the criminals. It means that I get the bad guys."

"Dad—" Stiles repeated.

"I get the bad guys."

"Dad, what if I AM the bad guy? There is something wrong inside my head and it's…it's turning me into the bad guy!" Stiles shouted, "I don't want to hurt people. I don't want to be the villain. I want to be me. I want to be Stiles. I want to come home, Dad, please, make it stop." His voice shattered into a whisper, "I don't wanna be the bad guy." He gave his dad a weak smile before dissolving into silent tears. John pulled his son into his lap and held him as he cried.

"You're not the bad guy, Stiles. I know you're not. Just… give it some time. Hang in there kiddo. Hang in there, and we'll figure out a way to bring you home. I promise."

Stiles looked up at his father with fear in his eyes. "How do you know? How can you promise me that? I don't even know what the hell is wrong with me, so I can't even imagine how we're gonna be able to fix me—"

"One, you're not broken. We don't fix you. We help you. Two, I know because I'm the damn sheriff—"

"Of this damn town." Stiles finished for him, his speech slurring as the sedative Melissa gave him kicked in. He shot his dad a crooked smile. "You're gonna have t' carry me t' the bed, Pops. I can't feel my legs." He laughed at himself as he slipped further away from consciousness. By the time John made it to the bed and finished tucking Stiles in, his son was oblivious to the rest of the world, which was probably the best thing for now.

John squeezed his son's hand once more. "We're gonna bring you back home, kiddo. Hang in there."

The sheriff walked out to meet the group of people who had met outside of Stiles' room. He met them with tired eyes and a forced smile.

"He's sleeping now. And he's just fine."


End file.
